


Over The Mountains

by fairy_tales_are_real2



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: War, post strike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairy_tales_are_real2/pseuds/fairy_tales_are_real2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spot's Death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over The Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> First of all thanks to the anon who sent this painful prompt on tumblr and keep them coming!  
> http://the-newsies-banner.tumblr.com/

Spot prided himself at being a leader. He had helped lead the newsies strike of 1899, and had led Brooklyn newsies valiantly for years. But times had changed, he had married one of his birds the summer before, the image of her in her wedding dress still fresh in his mind when the war happened.

Naturally, Spot enlisted, and he wasn't alone. Many of his former newsies joined up as well. They would be headed to England where some of worst of the fighting was. And so Sergeant Patrick Conlon of the 107th went off to war. And soon discovered real war was different from newsie war.

Afraid, he had his young wife send him his old key talisman. And he wore it on his dog tags. He wrote home often, his wife sent letters laced with her perfume. And photographs of herself and their baby daughter Eliza. He kept these stuffed in his shirt over his heart during the fighting, as if her love would protect him.

About eight months into his stay in England a familiar face appeared from behind a notepad. David Jacobs had been sent, as an ace war correspondent, to cover the war.

From the moment they're paths crossed again it was as if they were boys again, just children, during the summer of 1899. Spot the charismatic Brooklyn leader, and David the walking mouth.

 

One night, Spot and David were on patrol. Bored, Spot lit a cigarette and took a drag.

"You know those things'll kill you," David remarked. Spot looked at the dark haired man and expelled the smoke. He watched it hang in the air for a moment, reveling in the smell, before disappearing into the air.

"You sound like my wife," Spot grumbled, David eyed him,

"That's right, Susan right?"

"Susanna." Spot corrected, "but I call her by her old newsie name, Bluebird." Spot took another drag of his cigarette, and fished out a photograph, handing it to David, "that's Bluebird with our baby girl, Eliza."

"She's beautiful," David said softly,

"Thank you... So what about you, Mouth, who'd ya leave behind?" Spot asked tucking the photo away. David smiled,

"My fiancé, Elizabeth..." David passed Spot a photograph of a pretty brunette, it was a candid snapshot, David at her side. She was laughing at something he'd said, David looking at her as if she were the moon and the stars wrapped into one.

"Nice girl?" Spot asked,

"And beautiful, smart, independent... I love her."

"Congratulations." Spot said taking a few more drags of his cigarette before extinguishing it.

 

About a month after that the fighting got bad, Spot and David huddled in the trenches as shells and artillery exploded over head.

"Listen up!" Spot yelled as a shell rained down on the men in the trench. "We're going to charge 'em, boys get ready!" David shot him a look; _are you sure about this?_ Spot ignored him, grabbing his gun. David followed suit,

And then on Spot's word, they charged out of the trench and into the thick of danger. David tried to keep up, tried to keep Spot in his sights. A nearby explosion knocked David to the ground, as earth and smoke obscured his view David’s heart pounded in his chest. And then the air cleared, and David saw Spot lying on the ground no more than a hundred yards ahead of him.

” The former Brooklyn leader looked and David, already his eyes were getting glassy. with trembling hands he reached into his pocket.

Silently, he removed the photo of his wife and daughter,

“Give ‘em this…” Spot rasped removing his talisman. He pressed it into David’s hand and gave him a look (though slightly weaker) that David associated with the fearless Brooklyn leader of his youth. “Tell ‘em I loved ‘em,” Spot added, weaker still. David nodded,

“I will, Spot… I promise.” A ghost of a smile lit Spot’s lips and he pressed a kiss to the photo. And for a moment David saw Spot the boy in the place of the dying man.

And then all too suddenly, Spot gave a shuddering final gasp, David watched as the light slowly waned from Spot’s eyes. Thinking quickly David dragged his fallen comrade to the safety of the trenches and cried for Patrick “Spot” Conlon.

 

David returned once the war was over, but he was not the same man who’d left oh so long ago. Elizabeth tried to help but she could not compete with nightmares and wounds she could not see nor understand. Only a week after David’s return she left him.

Heartbroken, David threw himself into the search for Spot’s family. He found them in a small apartment in Brooklyn, with grave eyes he knocked on the door. Almost instantly it was thrown open by Spot’s with the excitement and hope dying in her eyes at the sight of David.

“Susanna Conlon?” He asked, his voice tight, she nodded tears already in her eyes, “ he wanted you to have this,” he pressed the talisman into her hands and she broke down.

“Thank you,” she managed through her tears as David turned to leave, “thank you for being his friend…” David shook his head,

“Of course…” David said, “he was the king of Brooklyn… even kings need friends.”


End file.
